After a week with my three boys at the beach, it dawned on me yet another reason why boys and girls are different. Boys enjoy driving each other crazy for sport.
It is a constant effort to see how far they can go before the other goes bat-shit crazy. I do not remember that in a house of three girls.
They poke each other. Jump out from behind corners to scare each other. Take every opportunity to remind each other of a favorite football team’s meltdown in the Super Bowl.
They have old lady nicknames for each other like Carol and Sally and then use them until their brother can’t take it anymore.
They remind each other of the embarrassing things they did yesterday or last year or six years ago. “Remember when you pooped at the pool? “Well, you pooped on the beach!”
Poke. Shove. Poke. “Hey, Carol, remember when…”
In the end, after all three laugh until their sides ache, someone always storms off. “They are sooo mean.”
But fifteen minutes later, they are back together, back at it, back to smiles and that little-boy twinkle in their eyes. All for one and one for all.
I pointed this observance out to them. They all grinned, “That’s why boys are more fun.”